Stille Nacht
by DeborahKLA
Summary: Hans Landa and Dieter Hellstrom spend Christmas Eve together--and end up revealing their darkest needs...
1. Chapter 1

**Stille Nacht – A Landa/Hellstrom Holiday Fanficlet**

_Slash – Rated M – Landa/Hellstrom – WARNING: some of the content in this ficlet may be very disturbing._

_This story has a rather odd trajectory. It began when street_spirit01 suggested we write holiday ficlets about Landa asking Hellstrom if he'd been naughty or nice. So I commented that in my story I would__ assume that both Landa and Hellstrom are from Austria. Hellstrom still has deep-seated childhood-based fears of the Krampus and Landa taunts and humiliates and terrifies him a la the scene in that homoerotic masterpiece, "The Servant," where Dirk Bogarde and James Fox are playing hide 'n' seek. That idea was greeted with great enthusiasm by both street-spirit01 and Miss Talitha, who, as it turns out, is also a huge fan of "The Servant." :-)_

_And that's what I started to write. But Landa and Hellstrom wouldn't let me. They had an entirely different story they wanted to tell. It's a much darker one, but I rather like it. I promise, street_spirit01 and Miss Talitha, that I will indeed write the "hide 'n' seek" Landa/Hellstrom story. That will probably be next since I need a break from all this angst for a little happy-go-lucky BDSM. Then I'll return to more angst with chapter seven of These Eyes So Green. :-D_

"Shall we toast once more, Major?" Landa raised his glass. "To Christmas?"

Hellstrom quickly raised his glass. "To Christmas." As he drank he found he couldn't take his eyes off the gentle movement of Landa's throat as he swallowed his own champagne. He had dreamed for ages of an evening just like this, of time spent alone with Landa in the Standartenfuhrer's sumptuous Parisian townhouse.

Hermann, Landa's long-time driver and manservant, came in with coffee and cake and began to clear the dishes from their Christmas Eve feast.

"You may leave once you've finished the washing up," Landa told him. "Frohe Weihnachten."

"Danke, Standartenfuhrer. Frohe Weihnachten."

Landa sliced a piece of the cake, a fine Buche de Noel, and handed it to Hellstrom on one of the delicate porcelain plates that came with the townhouse, once owned by a prominent family of Jews.

"This cake is quite good," he told Hellstrom. "Hermann found it in a little pastry shop near the Bois. I'm afraid I have quite a weakness for good pastry," he added, "which is why I must constantly exercise to keep myself trim." He lightly patted his flat stomach.

Dieter gazed at that graceful hand. He found it hard to believe that Landa had any weaknesses at all. Though taller than Landa, Dieter always felt as though he were looking up at him, rather than the other way around. Landa was, after all, the notorious Jew Hunter, the single greatest investigator in the Reich's armed forces.

"You're awfully quiet tonight, Major. Have you somehow abandoned your highly-skilled powers of speech?"

"Not as skilled as yours, Standartenfuhrer."

Landa grinned at that. They could hear cheerful laughter in the street below. "It's getting late," Landa said as he glanced out the window toward the passing voices. "About time for Saint Nicholas—or Pere Noel—to put in an appearance, don't you think? Will he bring the Krampus with him?"

Dieter laughed. "Not likely, sir. The French have no dark undercurrent in their yuletide celebrations."

"That's why they've lost to us twice in the last fifty years," said Landa. "They're simply unprepared for terror. Whereas we thrive upon it." Both men chuckled at that.

"I was terrified of the Krampus as a boy," Dieter suddenly said. "So terrified that I would run and hide under my bed or in my closet, missing the December 5th celebrations entirely."

Landa poured himself some coffee and took a sip. "And what terrified you so? Afraid to look in the face of the devil? He's nothing more than a wicked hobgoblin, you know."

"Not to me," Dieter replied. "I always felt—I knew he would hurt me."

"So, a little pain, a few scratches here and there, a bump on the head—what terror is there in that? These are nothing more than the common slings and arrows of boyhood."

"No," Dieter went on. "It was that I knew he would hurt me. He wouldn't hurt the other boys, but he would hurt me. I knew I would be his victim."

"Come now, Dieter. You can't say that the Krampus was only after you. How solipsistic can one boy be?"

"It wasn't like that," Dieter snapped.

"Calm down, my boy. You're upsetting yourself."

"One did hurt me. My uncle—" he stopped and was silent.

"Your uncle?"

"My father and my uncle—my uncle Dieter, the one I was named after—used to dress up on Christmas Eve. Father would play Saint Nicholas and Uncle Dieter, well, he was the Krampus.

"From the time I was four years old he would chase me all around the house, inside and outside, into the old, abandoned barn we had on our property. I was ten or twelve when he finally caught me. You'd think I'd be harder to catch as I got older, but in fact, I was easier to catch.

"I wanted to be caught," Dieter continued. "And I wanted Uncle Dieter to catch me. I wanted him to be the one to catch me because I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to touch me the way I'd seen men touch each other in the changing houses at beaches and lakes like Wannsee.

"But it wasn't the rapture I thought it would be. It hurt. It hurt terribly, and I was humiliated. I was never able to feel the same about Uncle Dieter after that—and I've had to carry his name all my life.

"I closed myself off after that. I was numb. I couldn't feel. I was like that for years. Then, when I was fourteen, I was alone in my dormitory at school. I had to stay back from our field hike because I'd been sick with a cold.

"I was all alone in my dormitory—in my bed, when I—thought of it again. And this time it excited me, remembering it—and afterwards, I wanted to die. I wanted to hurt myself—and I did.

"And somehow, hurting myself freed me from it. I no longer felt I was to blame for what had happened. And a part of me that had died when it happened also came to life again. The shock of the pain brought it back."

"What was that part of you?"

"The part of me that—" Dieter's voice trailed off.

They were silent for quite a while after that. It had grown still and quiet in the streets, now empty. People were home with their families, basking in the hushed tranquility of Christmas Eve, that calm and spiritual prelude that always precedes the festivities of Christmas Day. Even in wartime, it was there as it always had been when Dieter and Hans were boys.

Finally Landa spoke. "We are the sum of all our desires—and all our fears," he told Dieter. "And what they say about us is usually quite revealing.

"It may surprise you to know this, Major, but I am quite a student of the Jew Freud. Shocked? You shouldn't be. To capture my prey I very often have to open its mind and peer deep within to find its secrets and desires. And when I find these, I find its weaknesses. And no one knew better than Freud how much can be found when one unlocks another person's psyche.

"You see, Major, Freud had a theory, that one's sexuality begins taking shape from birth, when the infant first responds to the touch of its mother. As a child grows up, it finds itself responding to all manner of stimuli—at home, at school, and at church. A simple bath becomes a delicious self-caress of the body with a slick bar of soap. The strong legs of a fellow schoolmate as he climbs a ladder to reach for a book sends shivers down one's spine. And in church—you are Catholic, are you not, Major?"

By now Dieter's heart was pounding, and all he could do was nod in reply.

Landa smiled. "I thought so. Well, then you are as familiar as I with that image of the nearly naked Christ, slender and pale as porcelain, delicate arms outstretched, graceful feet stacked neatly for the penetration of the nail, clearly suffering—and yet in radiant ecstasy."

Landa leaned forward in his chair then, his razor-sharp eyes fixed on Dieter in an appraising gaze so clear and so frank it unnerved the major.

"I have my own Freudian theory," he continued, "about Catholic boys, as you and I once were. There are, you see, three ways for a young boy to respond to that image of suffering on the cross. The one that is most talked about is of course the one that finds both humility and inspiration in the profound divinity symbolized by that act of supreme self-sacrifice.

"But then there are the two others, the ones never spoken of, both a combination of exhilaration and desire. There is the one that wishes he had inflicted the wounds on that deceptively soft-looking white skin, that he had tortured that gaunt body, that he had been the source of such exquisite suffering.

"That boy, of course, is me."

Landa paused for a moment to let those words sink in. His usually hazel eyes were now a blazing and brilliant emerald green and Dieter, transfixed, thought that he had never seen more beautiful eyes, a more beautiful face, a more beautiful man. He swallowed, and caught Landa's glimpse at the clear bob of his Adam's apple.

"Then there is the other," Landa continued. "The one who wishes it was he upon that cross, he whose flesh is peppered with wounds and punctures, he who has suffered the thrilling agony of unspeakable torture and humiliation, he who glories in such complete and utter submission."

Again Landa paused, giving the meaning of his next words even greater weight.

"And that boy, my dear Dieter, is you."

Dieter's breath caught in his throat. A hot flush suffused his body. He felt the sharp stab of desire in his belly, and he was suddenly, achingly erect.

The weight of silence filled the room, broken only by the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. The air seemed thick and heavy.

The clock sounded, then began to chime. Dieter turned toward those chimes, counting each one. Four...six....eight….twelve. Midnight. It was Christmas Day. He turned back to Landa and was met with a gaze of fiercely bold determination—and raw, naked desire.

"You will stand up now, Dieter," Landa said quietly, "and remove your uniform."

Without hesitation, Dieter rose to his feet and began to undo the belt around his tunic.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hide 'n' Seek**_** – A Landa/Hellstrom Holiday Fanficlet**

_Slash – Rated NC-17 – Landa/Hellstrom – WARNING: please do NOT read this if you feel you may be offended, outraged or repulsed by descriptions of the male anatomy. You have been duly warned. This is for __street_spirit01 and Miss Talitha, who both asked for a Landa/Hellstrom "hide 'n' seek" scene similar to the one in that mid-sixties homoerotic British masterpiece, "The Servant." _

_This is somewhat of a sequel to "Stille Nacht." Here's a little background that I should have supplied for "Stille Nacht" and foolishly didn't, which Linndechir rightly called me on (but please, Linndechir, go easy on me this time, I've had a very rough week.) At the time this story takes place, Landa and Hellstrom have been working together for almost a year. Dieter is gay; Landa swings both ways. Both are a part of the gay subculture that has existed in every military organization since time immemorial, including both the Gestapo and the SS. Yes, both organizations strictly forbade homosexuality and there was always the fear of execution, but nevertheless, these subcultures did exist. And there have always been commanding officers that turned a blind eye towards homosexuality when faced with a good soldier. General Eisenhower was among these commanding officers._

_It's taken me a week to get this written and posted because I've been ill for several days. I'm not sure if I'll continue it—I'm anxious to get back to the main object of my literary affections at the moment, "These Eyes so Green." But we'll see._

_Please remember that this is just a story—my intent is not now, nor has it ever been, to offend or show disrespect for anyone in this or any of my postings, least of all the characters, the actors who play them or their inimitable creator and sole owner, Quentin Tarantino. My interpretation of these characters is one of only many possibilities, and it may not correspond with anyone else's interpretation. But it's important to remember that out of over 500 pages of screenplay, less than 150 made it to the screen. None of these characters is fully fleshed out in the final film, and that's why IB communities and fanfiction have flourished. These characters are begging to be heard, and to be heard in as many ways as possible. So please keep an open mind to the different ways in which we may see them. _

_**Hide 'n' Seek**_** – Part II of **_**Stille Nacht**_

Without uttering a word, Dieter slowly removed his uniform, taking the time to neatly drape his shirt and tunic over the dining room chair, and carefully fold his trousers and place them on the chair's seat. Landa smiled at every meticulous little move.

When he was clad only in his underclothes, Dieter stood up straight in front of Landa and tried to meet his fiery gaze. He felt flushed and hot, and he was acutely aware of the growing damp spot on the front of his undershorts. He ached to touch himself, to smooth that silken fluid around the exposed head and the sheath that clung so much more snugly to him now.

Landa gazed at him with a mysterious, dark smile, cocked an eyebrow when he spotted the front of his shorts. "What an excitable creature you are," he said, openly admiring the swelling in those undershorts, which clung tightly to two taut, smooth white thighs. "The undershirt, now. Please." He shifted in his chair to accommodate his own arousal as Dieter unbuttoned and then pulled off his undershirt, exposing a pale, white chest with no more than a few sprinkles of hair around the nipples, something Landa considered a special treat in a man. He had always enjoyed licking those little hairs, and tugging at them with his teeth.

"Now that I find myself confronted with an embarrassment of riches, I'm almost at a loss regarding what to do next," he told Dieter with a chuckle. "Pull down those undershorts for a taste of that sweetness? I imagine you taste very good indeed, Sturmbannführer. You certainly have an intoxicating scent." With that Landa closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as though he were savoring that scent.

Dieter began to shiver almost uncontrollably, although not from the cold—Landa kept his townhouse unusually warm—but because each and every word Landa uttered was like a caress, and he felt himself grow even harder.

"How lovely it would be step over there and touch that smooth, pale skin of yours, Dieter," Landa went on, his voice huskier. "As pale as porcelain, soft as a woman, yet firm like a man…oh, to bite those tender nipples, to kiss that beautiful, slender throat. To slide my hands beneath that soft cotton and grasp that firm behind. Just talking about it makes me very hard indeed, and—unless my eyes deceive me, and I don't believe they do—my words seem to have the very same effect on you."

Dieter blushed and lowered his head. He had never been more embarrassed and aroused in his life, and yet there was something wonderful in such humiliation. He had never felt happier.

"Look at me, my boy," Landa said firmly. "Do not look away."

Dieter raised his head, struggled to meet head-on that clear, sharp gaze.

Landa stood up, walked over to Dieter, and with one graceful hand reached out to stroke that pale chest, dragging his fingers down to one brown nipple, pinching it lightly, then twisting it roughly. Dieter winced in pain but the bulge in his shorts lurched upward.

"Ah, you like that," Landa exclaimed. He pinched the nipple harder; saw the tears well up in Dieter's large blue eyes. "A little twinge here"—Dieter moaned softly —"a sharp twist there"—Dieter gasped. "It's not difficult to make you sing, is it? Like a little bird…

"Oh, what to do, what to do," Landa suddenly groaned. " I have fucked many women and many men, but you are easily one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen. Still, I mustn't be greedy, mustn't rush into things…"

Landa snapped his fingers. "I have it," he said cheerfully. "Let's play a little game, shall we? A game of hide 'n' go seek. You shall hide, and I, the hunter, shall seek. Yes. That's exactly what we'll do."

Dieter stared at Landa, completely dumbfounded. He was expecting to be seduced, and now Landa wanted to play a game?

"Why are you looking at me that way, my boy? Do you begrudge me a little fun? You were expecting me to simply bend you over, pull down those shorts and take you without putting any thought into it?"

"No, Standartenführer, but..."

"I would think by now you should know to always expect the unexpected from me. I'm going to cover my eyes now, and begin my countdown. You be a good little bird and fly away."

Landa turned his head toward the wall and began to count. Still dumbfounded, Dieter didn't move.

"Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…" Landa stopped. The townhouse was suddenly engulfed in silence, broken only by the distant ticking of the Grandfather clock. Without turning around, Landa spoke very quietly, very clearly and very firmly:

"Go hide, Dieter. _Now_."

The promise of a threat was unmistakable in that voice, and Dieter backed out of the room, then turned and ran, his heart thudding in his chest.

This game was not unfamiliar to Dieter, and as he flew from room to room, looking for a suitable place to hide, he had the odd sensation that something very primal was being enacted; some deeply buried feeling was being uprooted, if not torn from him. And then of course he understood. He was running from the Krampus again, as he had for so many years as a child—and that this had been Landa's intention all along. The thought filled him with exhilaration as he bounded up the staircase to the second floor of the townhouse.

"Thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four…" Landa's voice drifted upstairs, ticking off the numbers like a metronome, and Dieter was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that behind one of the doors at the top of the stairwell lurked Landa's bedroom. But which one? He decided he would try all of them until he found it. After all, where else could he hide if he wanted the rest of the night to follow what he thought should be its natural progression?

He found it behind the third door. It was large and sumptuous and very tidy, dominated by an enormous bed that was neatly and properly made. Landa's comb and brush were on the dressing table, and within that brush Dieter spied a single, silky strand of dark blonde hair. He wanted to touch that hair, but turned away to look elsewhere in the room. He opened a drawer in the bedside table and found a book. Curious, he took a look. Freud's _Das ich und das Es_._ *_ Obviously a lucky find in a French used bookstore, since there were no more copies in the original German anywhere in the Reich. That it was, of course, a forbidden book, only gave Landa greater allure in Dieter's eyes.

Landa's voice drifted upstairs again. He was nearing the end of his countdown. There was no more time to think about where to hide. Dieter spotted Landa's wardrobe, went over to it and climbed in, closing the door behind him.

He found himself surrounded by Landa's uniforms, which dominated the narrow wardrobe. To one side hung an emerald green smoking jacket and a few pairs of civilian slacks, most likely worn only at home. Landa never appeared out of uniform outside of that townhouse.

The uniforms themselves were immaculate, and all bore Landa's distinct scent, a mixture of pipe tobacco, fresh soap and the special imported ink he used to write all his reports. Landa never wore cologne, the way Dieter often did; he considered it merely "perfume for men," and he didn't like much perfume on his women, either. Landa's olfactory glands were acutely sensitive and easily bothered by artificial scents.

Now it was Dieter who inhaled deeply, breathing in Landa's special scent. In front of him hung one of Landa's daily uniforms. Dieter wrapped his arms around that uniform, embraced it as though he could conjure up Landa's body within it and embrace the man himself. He rubbed his lips and nose against the rough cloth and breathed deeply, lost in the pleasure of it. Soon, very soon—he would be in Landa's arms—

"I have a feeling, my dear boy, that you are not downstairs at all," Landa's voice boomed. "No, indeed you are not."

There was something different in Landa's voice. The mirth that had been there at the beginning of the game was now gone, and the menace had returned. Dieter shivered as he heard Landa's slow footfall start up the stairs.

"That was quite a little tale you told me tonight," Landa said. "Poor, innocent little Dieter, who wanted only love from his uncle and suffered such violation instead.

"Such a sad little story—but that's exactly what it is, isn't it? A story."

Dieter froze. A chill ran up his spine.

"Made up with the intent to arouse my sympathies as well as my lust, no doubt. But you should know by now that you can never fool me, Dieter. I will always find you out."

Dieter's mind was racing. He knew. Somehow, Landa knew. He had been a fool to think that he could have deceived Landa. A stupid, stupid fool.

"And such a pathetic attempt. I expected more from you, much more."

Dieter backed up against the rear of the wardrobe. He had heard that tone in Landa's voice before, and what usually followed was far from pretty.

"You have a story, Dieter my boy, but that isn't it."

Dieter was terrified now, more terrified than he had ever been in his life.

"No, your story is much more shameful, is it not?" Landa had reached the top of the stairs.

"Now where would I hide," he mused, "if I wanted to be easily caught? Really, Dieter, this is so beneath you."

The bedroom door opened.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. So ridiculously easy. And what was the purpose of this little tale of yours, my boy? What on earth were you hoping to accomplish by acting out your idea of a confession to Father Landa?

"The truth is that your adored Uncle Dieter rejected you, didn't he? He refused the pathetic offering of a scrawny, pallid little boy. And from that moment on, he treated you with all the contempt you deserved."

Landa stood right in front of the wardrobe. Inside, the sweat began to run down Dieter's brow.

"And that experience shaped your entire future, didn't it? Molded you into the bully you are now, a bully identical to all those who tormented you throughout your youth.

"What is that American saying—if you can't beat them, you must join them? You certainly did very well in that regard didn't you? Even down to that ridiculous pomade."

Landa swung open the wardrobe doors, reached into the back, pulled out Dieter and flung him to the floor. He knelt over him and, with one hand, grasped him by the throat and began to squeeze.

"We are both hunters, you and I," Landa told him as Dieter struggled in his grasp. "The difference between us is that I don't feel the need to bully or torture my prey. I get exactly what I want without resorting to violence—either physically or verbally."

The tears began to spill then, and Landa snorted in disgust. "I'm rather appalled that I want you at all," he told the quivering figure, "but I do." He ran his free hand down Dieter's bare chest and onto the white undershorts, squeezing the undiminished bulge there.

"Yes," Landa went on, his voice thick. "I want you very much indeed, Dieter. And I will have you. But not necessarily in the way you'd like me to."

The tears were running faster now, and Dieter's shoulders began to heave with barely-suppressed sobs. In one swift move, Landa flung him over onto his stomach and knelt over him, covering him with his body. He undulated his hips gently, rubbing his arousal against those cotton-clad buttocks, and slowly ran his hands up that trembling torso.

"Such soft, soft skin," he breathed into Dieter's ear before sinking his teeth into the tender lobe. Dieter flinched.

Landa sat up. "This isn't much fun for me, I'm afraid," he said. "I expected you to struggle a bit more, not just lie there like a rag doll. What's the fun in that?" He leaned over Dieter once more, who shivered when he felt Landa's hot breath in his ear again. "Fight back, my boy," he whispered, and bit his ear again.

Dieter bucked back then, pushing Landa off him. The two men tumbled on the floor together, clawing, scratching, and pulling at each other. Dieter tore at Landa's uniform, struggled to pull off the tunic and reveal the man within. Landa fought back by sinking his teeth into every bare patch of Dieter's flesh that came in contact with his mouth, eliciting a sharp cry with each bite.

Landa somehow managed to shed his tunic, and Dieter gazed hungrily at the lean torso outlined in his undershirt and the golden hair on his arms. He wanted to bite those arms, to fill his mouth with that golden hair, and he was straining towards one arm to do so when Landa grabbed him and held him with that same arm securely around his throat. Dieter struggled to break free, clutching at that beautiful arm, straining to bite down into that warm flesh.

Landa brought his mouth back down to Dieter's ear, tracing it with his tongue. "That's better," he breathed. "How much more beautiful you are when you struggle. Now I am like Jacob, wrestling with the angel—'I shall not let thee go unless thou bless me'—"

He brought his other arm around Dieter's waist and pulled him closer, almost into an embrace. The words that followed were like a purr, and they set Dieter on fire.

"My beautiful angel. I cannot wait to be inside you, to feel you tight around me. To feel those long pale legs wrapped around my waist…"

Dieter moaned—a long, low moan so filled with primal need that it made Landa shudder and growl in return. Then something seemed to take over in Landa, some raw, feral power, and he flung the trembling creature from him onto his back. Landa stood up then and stepped over Dieter, one uniformed and boot-clad leg on either side of that pale, thin body.

Landa smiled sweetly down at Dieter as he began to undo his trousers.

"Rise up my boy," he said, as he freed himself, revealing a darkly sheathed shaft that rose and thickened further, one glistening drop on the pink tip that peeked from within.

Like a baby bird, Dieter rose up, mouth opened wide.

* _The Ego and the Id_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Little Bird**_** – Part III of **_**Stille Nacht**_**, A Landa/Hellstrom Holiday Fanfic****let**

_Slash – Rated NC-17 – Landa/Hellstrom – WARNING: please do NOT read this if you feel you may be offended, outraged or repulsed by explicit descriptions of the male anatomy, and/or explicit descriptions and rhapsodizing over a certain sexual act that happens to be my very favorite. You have been duly warned._

_Here it is – the ongoing Christmas Day adventure that is "Stille Nacht," which can no longer be called a ficlet. Does anyone remember that wonderful British gangster film from the eighties, __**The Long Good Friday**__? This is __**The Long Christmas**__. _

_A little explanation about the title, lame though it may appear. Zoi no miko pointed out to me that in Landa's references to Dieter as a "little bird", and to Dieter rising open-mouthed, like a baby bird, at the end of the last chapter of this story, I may have subconsciously been referencing the fact that the Yiddish term faygele and the Spanish term aparajito—both meaning "little bird"—are also terms for gay men in their respective cultures. And since I am a little familiar with Spanish and more than a little familiar with Yiddish, I realized immediately that, of course, she was right. And for recognizing this and bringing it to my attention I thank her. I knew there was a reason the term sounded so right in the context of this story. ;-) _

_And that's why I find reviews so tremendously rewarding. I love it when people catch things that I didn't consciously realize I was doing. Especially since, as I've mentioned before, all my writing simply spews (ejaculates?) forth (albeit sometimes as a trickle more than as a wave.) I don't outline, I don't explore plot ideas or storylines, I don't develop any backstories—it's all just there, in my subconscious, and it feels as though it's always been there, just waiting to come out. So please review me and catch my motives if you can—in whatever way you wish. I love it all. _

_Again, this is just a story—my intent is not now, nor has it ever been, to offend or show disrespect for or violate the copyright of anyone in this or any of my postings, least of all the characters, the actors who play them or their inimitable creator and sole owner, Quentin Tarantino._

_**Little Bird**_** – Part III of **_**Stille Nacht**_

Dieter rose, mouth open and hungry. With one hand Landa reached out and placed his index finger on that slender chin, his thumb on that red upper lip, and pressed the younger man's mouth closed.

"What a hungry little bird you are," he told Dieter, his thumb slowly and sensuously caressing those unusually red lips. "And such a beautiful mouth." He brought the moisture-slick head of his cock to that mouth, and began lightly painting it, leaving sweet, wet trails along those pretty lips.

Dieter's breath quickened, and his lips parted slightly. When Landa drew away from him he followed, leaning forward, his tongue sneaking out, ready to gather the silken, glistening fluid that now coated the tip, poised to sweep up every last drop. But Landa pulled away.

"Ah, ah, ah," he chastised the now trembling younger man. "My little bird is indeed hungry, I know, but I need time to enjoy the sight of you on your knees before me, those lovely red lips quivering, that sweet, pink tongue poised and ready. What a beautiful sight to behold, and look at what it does to me to do just that. I'm starting to drip, my boy."

Dieter's breathing grew more labored, emerging now in short, sharp and shuddering gasps. He looked up at Landa, blue eyes now blazing with an almost feral need, a sight that made Landa himself shudder in an equally powerful answer.

"Oh, my hungry little bird," Landa breathed, his voice thick, his own breath just as labored. He uttered one more word, just one, but that one word was enough to light a fire deep within Dieter:

"Open," Landa said, his voice soft yet full of lust.

Dieter's lips parted, the lower one trembling.. Landa stepped forward slightly and poised over that open mouth. He brought his hand slowly up his stiff shaft, squeezing out two fine, syrupy drops—Dieter's tongue darted out and caught them both.

"That's my boy," whispered Landa, as he continued to slowly stroke himself squeezing out a few more drops, all quickly captured by Dieter's nimble tongue.

That tongue had not even touched him yet, but Landa knew he was dangerously close to completion. He paused for a moment, closed his eyes, and gently squeezed that pressure point which would stave off the urgency, holding the hunger at bay while allowing him to remain fully aroused.

"Now," Landa said, holding himself ready. Dieter leaned forward, mouth open wide once more, barely stifling a trembling moan as Landa's thick shaft slid slowly, surely down his throat, leaving a fine coat of moisture on its way.

It was so wonderfully, so wickedly pleasurable that Landa let loose with a rich, throaty groan, his hips pitching forward slightly until he was fully encased in that slender throat. Dieter began to swallow, and the motion rippled along Landa's aching shaft. The older man was trembling all over now, and he watched closely while Dieter slowly drew back until just the head remained inside that lovely mouth.

"What a pretty sight," Landa breathed, one hand coming down to stroke Dieter's cheek, the other laying claim to a fistful of his hair. "My little bird feasting on me." He gripped Dieter's hair tightly, began to gently thrust between those sweet, red lips. The hand that had almost tenderly caressed Dieter's cheek snaked around to the back of his neck and roughly pulled him in closer as his thrusts grew harder and deeper.

He could lose himself in every sensation, Dieter thought. His mind was in a daze, yet every one of his senses was acutely attuned to that very moment, the taste and smell of Landa, the thick slide of his meaty flesh between Dieter's eager lips, the almost honey-like flavor of the steady stream of fluid that oozed out and coated Dieter's hungry tongue.

Landa's breathing was now heavy and ragged, and every so often he let loose with a softly ecstatic moan of pleasure. Both his hands now gripped Dieter's hair as his thrusts increased in speed and depth. His whole body now trembled with the sheer, unbridled pleasure of every motion of his hips.

Suddenly Landa stopped, abruptly pulled out of Dieter's mouth, and with two fingers, once again pinched the tender head of his cock. He closed his eyes and a mighty shudder ran through him, but he did not come.

"That," he told Dieter with a broad grin, "was what the Americans would refer to as a 'close call'."

He closed his eyes and shuddered once more. "A _very_ close call," he breathed. He opened his eyes and reached out to once again brush his thumb against Dieter's tender, moist lips.

"As delightful as it would be to come deep in that lovely, slender throat—" he stopped abruptly, took a deep breath—"and as you can see, the thought excites me beyond words—I want to savor every moment. This is, after all, my Christmas gift. The greatest gift I have ever received." The smile he gave Dieter at that moment was warm, almost tender.

Then Landa suddenly whirled around, filled with renewed energy, and fell back into an easy chair in one corner of the room, legs outspread, trousers still undone, cock still erect, another broad grin spread across his face. He gazed at Dieter for a moment, watched his prize rise to his feet.

Dieter stood up, gazed evenly at Landa, saw the raw lust grow in his eyes, watched the man's grin grow slack with desire. It was moments like these when Dieter felt immensely powerful, when he knew he could control another man more completely and utterly than he ever could with violence or threats, and that incredible realization always left him slightly dizzy, almost drunk. It was a tremendous, almost overwhelming to feel such power, and Dieter trembled with the pleasure of it.

Eyes locked, for a moment the two men simply gazed at each other, drinking each other in with their eyes, absorbing the sight and smell and sounds of each other. The air was thick with the mixed scent of male arousal and sweat, the sound of heavy intakes of breath, and the distant but ever constant ticking of the grandfather clock.

The clock chimed. It was now two a.m. on Christmas day.

As they stared at each other, unable to pull their eyes away, the shared hunger of the two men grew stronger, shone brightly in their eyes. Dieter slipped a hand into his briefs, grasped himself, tugging gently. Landa did the same, taking hold of his cock and stroking it, slowly drawing his foreskin back and forth over the ruddy head.

"Come here my boy," he told Dieter, the words a command, the voice husky and rich with passion. "My pet, my treasure…"

Dieter slowly walked over, hand still tugging at himself. He stood between Landa's open legs, his knees nearly brushing the older man's arousal. Landa closed his eyes, inhaling deeply the younger man's musky scent. When he opened them once more it was to at last to pull down Dieter's by now by very damp briefs, and to bat the boy's hand away from himself.

Landa grasped Dieter's hips and pulled him closer until the young man's erection bobbed within inches of his mouth. Without warning, his tongue darted out and swept across the slick head, gathering the moisture there.

Again, Landa's intake of breath was heavy and sharp. Suddenly he leaned forward and engulfed that tender head. Dieter gasped with pleasure at the sudden invasion. Landa moved forward, took the boy deep into his throat and held him there, just for a moment, before drawing back slowly, letting Dieter's cock pull from his lips with an audible pop. Then he took the head in his mouth once more and sucked on it, filling his tongue with the sweet fluid that oozed from it. He drew on it for a while, eyes closed, drinking as though from a well, absorbing as much of the young man's arousal as he could, all the while squeezing and caressing those firm, white buttocks.

He grasped Dieter's slim hips more tightly, began to draw him in and out of his mouth, fucking the boy with his face, losing himself in the scent and taste of him, drunk with pleasure and power and passion, until he pulled back once more, let Dieter's cock fall from between his lips and watched it bob damply in the warm air of the bedroom as he struggled to hold back, his breath ragged and rough. Finally he looked up at Dieter and smiled.

"Is that not the most amazing of all sexual acts?" he asked him. "To have a man's cock in your mouth. It is at once the most powerful and the most submissive act in human existence. There is no other experience that is anything quite like it, and I could no more forsake it than I could forsake the intimate taste of a woman, not only because I enjoy them both so much but also because I hunger for them both.

"But right now…" Landa's voice trailed off as he drew his hands slowly up Dieter's waist, "…at this very moment…there is nothing I hunger for more than you."

He leaned forward, kissed Dieter's belly, lighly sucked at his navel, then nibbled his way up that pale, white chest, pausing occasionally to lap up the light pools of sweat that had gathered along a fold of skin here and there. If he hadn't been so hungry for all this beauty for so long he would have licked and kissed every inch of him. But there was always time for that later, after he had satisfied his lust and left his seed deep inside the boy, marking him forever with his presence. The thought of doing so was so powerfully arousing that Landa began to nip and bite as well as to kiss the soft, warm skin beneath his lips.

Dieter trembled and moaned at Landa's every touch. He was aching now, aching to be held close and kissed on the mouth by this man who so masterfully manipulated the very darkest of his desires. He had never wanted to be taken by a man as much as he wanted to be taken—no, not just taken but ravished, devoured—by this elegant, sensual and brilliant Standartenführer.

Landa licked all around Dieter's nipples, soaking the tiny hairs there, pulling them into his mouth, tugging at them with his sharp, white teeth, all the while avoiding the two small nipples, which now stood proudly erect. Suddenly Landa sank his teeth into first one taut brown nipple, then the other. Dieter cried out, grabbed Landa's hair and pulled his face closer—

Landa drew back sharply, eyes dark yet fiery, and shot Dieter a look so contemptuous and cruel that the younger man shuddered in fear.

"Never pull at me like that," he told him fiercely, "never. Don't _ever_ try to bend me to your will."

"Bitte," Dieter begged, falling to his knees. "Bitte…"

"I know what you want," Landa said, his voice icy. "I've always known what you wanted, from the moment I first caught you staring at me when you rather stupidly thought I was completely unaware of those longing looks of yours."

"Bitte," Dieter was sobbing now, and the tears ran down his cheeks again. Landa drew back and scornfully surveyed the trembling, naked creature that slumped before him.

"Somehow that part of you that disgusts me also excites me," Landa told the shivering heap. He grabbed Dieter by the hair and pulled him back to his feet, ignoring the younger man's wince of pain, until the two were face to face, their mouths within inches of each other.

Landa's breath was even more labored now, and Dieter could feel the solid bulk of his erection pressing against him.

Suddenly Landa pulled him into a fierce embrace.

"I do the taking, my boy," he growled thickly, just before pulling Dieter into their first kiss, one so hungry and so violent and so passionate that it nearly overpowered them both…

_(TO BE CONTINUED)_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Brute, Brute Heart**_

**Part IV of **_**Stille Nacht**_**, A Landa/Hellstrom Holiday FanFic**

**The Final Chapter**

_Slash – Rated NC-17 – Landa/Hellstrom – WARNING! TONS of occasionally rough gay sex, including corporal punishment, ass play and references to a particular sexual act considered taboo by some._

_Here it is – the fourth and final part of __**Stille Nacht**__. The title of this chapter is an excerpt from a poem by Sylvia Plath. Now I know how anxiously you've all been waiting for these two to finally fuck. Well, you've got it here—and then some. This chapter's much more smutty than the previous three. I've forsaken all the angsty-angst for these two to finally get down and dirty with each other. Once again, I don't outline, I don't explore plot ideas or storylines, I don't develop any backstories—it's all there in my subconscious. So please, please review and/or comment—in whatever way you wish. I love to hear from my readers, and I always learn from them. _

_Disclaimer: my intent is not now, nor has it ever been, to violate the copyright held by Quentin Tarantino, the inimitable creator and sole owner of these two characters._

_**Brute, Brute Heart**_

**Part IV of **_**Stille Nacht – The Final Chapter**_

That violent kiss took Dieter by complete surprise, but he fell headlong right into it, and Landa followed him. For a moment the two were lost in passion. Then Landa's lips and tongue took control, moving firmly but sensuously over Dieter's mouth. When he felt Landa's arms wrap around his waist, drawing him closer, Dieter slid his hands up Landa's back to clutch at his shoulders.

Landa's lips caressed Dieter's, his tongue darting out occasionally to tease lightly at that tender mouth before plunging deep inside. Their groins were pressed close together now, and Dieter moved his hips slowly, deliberately, rubbing his arousal against Landa's.

Landa gasped into Dieter's mouth, pushed him roughly up against the wall of his bedroom, his kiss hungrier and more insistent than before. He reached up and took hold of Dieter's face, pulled away from the kiss to gaze into those clear blue eyes. There was lust in that gaze, but something else as well, something Dieter hadn't expected: tenderness.

"I could eat you up," Landa breathed, "you delicious, delicious creature."

He kissed Dieter again, this time lightly, first on the lips, then on the cheeks, then nibbled along his jaw line. Dieter's eyes closed, his head fell back against the wall, and he moaned at the gentle yet firm press of those lips against his skin.

Gott, the boy was so responsive, melting at his touch—it excited Landa beyond belief. He couldn't remember ever having been so feverishly aroused. He dragged his lips all over Dieter's beautiful face, then down to his soft, tender throat. He ran his hands all over his pale, firm body. The boy was thin, but clearly not as fragile as he looked; his skin was as soft as velvet, and the sweet yet tangy taste of his sweat utterly delectable.

A tiny pool of sweat had gathered in the hollow at the base of Dieter's neck. Landa dipped his tongue into that warm pool, lapped it up eagerly. He began to nip and bite at that soft skin, and found that the groans and gasps he elicited from Dieter only fed his hunger further, made it more urgent. He mimicked Dieter's movements, pressing his groin back against the boy's. They were both leaking a steady stream now, and Landa brushed one hand over and around both cockheads, coating it with their mixed fluids, then grasping both cocks and stroking them together with a steady, sensuous rhythm.

Dieter let out a quivering moan so needy that Landa couldn't help but answer with a rich moan of his own. He grabbed the younger man by the hair and pulled him into another eager kiss, his tongue thrusting as deep as it could go.

Without breaking that kiss, Landa pulled Dieter away from the wall, dragged him over to the bed and pushed him down on it. He stepped back to remove his boots, undershirt, trousers and underwear. Dieter's breath caught in his throat when he saw Landa naked at last. The older man's body was compact and masculine in its maturity, slender yet strong and very, very beautiful. He looked like a small but sturdy angel, and Dieter felt as though he had now become Jacob, ready to wrestle Landa wholeheartedly.

Landa's nipples were small, brown, erect, surrounded by a soft dusting of dark hair covering his pecs. His very hard cock rose proudly from a nest of soft, brown curls, the foreskin drawn back just below the head, which glistened with moisture. Dieter's breath had now lapsed into a series of irregular pants, and he reached out to Landa, his eyes an entreaty.

"You're so hungry," Landa's voice was seductive. "So desperately hungry for me, aren't you?"

"Ja…bitte…"

"Ah, I do like it when you beg." Landa reached down, took hold of his own cock and stroked it slowly, suggestively. Dieter was mesmerized by the sight, and his breath grew even more labored.

"I need you to touch me," Dieter breathed.

The boy's aching desire was so clear, so raw that it thrilled Landa to the very core of his being. He climbed onto the bed and over Dieter, leaned down to give him a deep kiss. His cock slid more urgently against the boy's cock as he caressed every part of his body, unable to resist that silky, smooth skin.

He broke away to kiss the side of Dieter's face, then traced his tender earlobe with his tongue.

"Do you want me inside you?" he whispered, his breath hot against Dieter's ear.

"Ja, bitte, bitte, bitte," Dieter moaned, both hands groping at Landa's body, luxuriating in the feel of Landa's warm, damp skin against his own.

"Oh, you want it badly, don't you? I can feel how much you want it," Landa breathed. He reached into the drawer of the bedside table, shuffled around in it, pulled out a tube of lubricant. He sat up then, snapped open the cap and began coating two fingers. Dieter spread his legs in anticipation, brought his knees up, and heard Landa's quick intake of breath at the sight.

"You're so desperate for it," Landa said. He squeezed out a small glob of lubricant onto his fingertips, lifted Dieter's left leg over his shoulder, spreading him open. Dieter lifted his right leg over Landa''s other shoulder, opening himself fully to him, his breathing now rapid and harsh.

Landa exclaimed softly at the sight, brought his fingers up, worked that blob against the boy's entrance and just inside, gently spreading the lubricant. Dieter moaned and pushed back against those fingers, tried to capture more of them.

"Stop right there," Landa said sharply, his voice cold and dispassionate. Dieter gazed up at him fearfully; Landa's face was cold and stern.

Then Landa leaned forward slightly. "What's the rush?" he said, as he slowly slid his fingers inside, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Dieter gasped, let out a low groan, and lifted his hips to pull those fingers in deeper. Landa slowly stroked his fingers in and out, twisted them, scissored them, then slid a third finger inside, eliciting another sharp gasp from the boy, who bucked up his hips to take them deeper.

"Mein Gott," Dieter begged, "please…"

Landa leaned over, bending the boy's legs back towards the bed, ran his tongue along Dieter's jaw and dragged it up to tickle the sensitive spot just below his ear. Dieter shivered with pleasure. Landa brushed his lips against his ear, sank his teeth into the tender lobe once more.

"I need to be inside you," he whispered hotly.

Landa slowly withdrew his fingers, and the dull ache that remained instilled a craving in Dieter so intense it was almost unbearable, and his head began to roll.

"Bitte," he cried out, "bitte, bitte, bitte, bitte—" Dieter's voice caught in his throat as he felt Landa's cock slide deep inside him, and he let out a long, ragged groan.

Landa let out a deep moan when he was all the way in. He leaned his forehead against Dieter's, biting back his need. "I have thought about this…wanted it…for weeks," he breathed. "And now—it feels—"

"It feels good," Dieter cried, "so good—"

Landa interrupted him with a passionate kiss. "My beautiful boy," he whispered. And then he began to move, sliding the full length of his cock in and out, savoring each long, slow thrust.

"I want your legs around me," he breathed. "I want to feel you wrapped around me while I fuck you…"

Dieter brought his legs down, wrapped them around Landa's waist, then slid his hands up to grasp his shoulders, bracing himself.

"Ja," Landa moaned. "It's good…" his own breath was becoming more labored now. Dieter began to move in tandem with him, his heels pressing him in even deeper, his hips rising to meet each thrust.

"Oh, you love to be fucked, don't you," Landa said, his voice thick with passion as his thrusts increased in speed.

"Gott, Ja," Dieter cried out, "Ja! Faster, bitte, harder…"

Suddenly Landa pulled out completely. Dieter's legs fell from his hips as he watched him move back and away from him. Dieter looked up at him in a fog of confusion and lust.

"You weren't expecting that, were you, my boy? Have you forgotten what I told you earlier?"

Dieter couldn't muster up the wherewithal to answer, but continued to gaze up at Landa, puzzled. Landa returned that gaze with a chilling smile.

"I told you I would have you—but not necessarily in the way you wanted me."

Landa grabbed Dieter's hips and roughly flipped him over onto his belly, then pulled him up to his knees. He slapped the boy's pale, white buttocks, then parted them tenderly. He was sorely tempted to lick and probe that sweet, pink rosebud, but he knew all he'd get was a mouthful of lubricant for his efforts. Oh, well. Next time he would take as long as he liked to taste that part of his new lover.

Still, it was terribly tempting, and Landa couldn't restrain himself. He leaned forward and planted a firm kiss on that pretty hole, swiped his tongue quickly against it before drawing back.

Dieter shuddered and let out a groan so loud Landa was sure it must have echoed throughout the townhouse. Gott, if the boy reacted that way to a single kiss there, how would he react when Landa thoroughly explored him with his tongue? He shivered at the thought of what he had to look forward to, but quickly regained his composure.

"Quiet," he ordered, rising up and landing a sharp slap against Dieter's right buttock. He admired the reddened spot for a minute, then brought both hands up and began gently caressing those firm, young buttocks. Dieter moaned with pleasure.

"This is, without question, one of the most beautiful asses I have ever fucked," Landa said, his voice raw and husky. He bent down to plant several tender, almost reverent kisses all over it. Dieter writhed at the soft brush of Landa's mouth against this rarely kissed part of himself. Each whisper of those lips felt feather-soft against his skin, and he trembled violently. If only these kisses could go on forever; it was so rare for a man to genuinely worship his behind. An older boy had first done it to him when he was only 11, and ever since, Dieter had craved it more than anything else. He closed his eyes and sighed in ecstasy.

Landa opened his mouth and let his tongue dance soft circles around that slender yet taut rear. He had never tasted sweeter skin and could easily have devoted a good hour to this exquisite endeavor. But he had something else in mind, something quite different. He leaned to the right to plant a kiss in the hollow of Dieter's buttock, and at the same time reached under the bed.

When Landa's lips were suddenly removed, Dieter shivered, aching for their return.

He heard the snap before he felt it, and then the sting came, sharp and acute. It came again, and again and again on both buttocks, and Dieter jerked at the painful shock of each strike. He turned to look over his shoulder—Landa was whipping him with a very thin cane, more like a switch, really, and the sensation of pain so soon after pleasure inflamed him. The impact of each strike slowly increased in speed and intensity, and Dieter couldn't help himself. A quavering, passionate moan emerged from his lips. He was close, so close. He was going to come …

Landa must have sensed it, because his hand was suddenly on Dieter's cock, pinching the head, preventing him from attaining the release he so desperately needed. Dieter's eyes stung with tears of frustration. Landa leaned over his back, and he felt the man's hot breath in his ear once more.

"I'll decide when you come, my boy," he hissed, and Dieter trembled at his words. Landa's hard cock was sliding along the crack of his ass, and he pushed up against it.

"Oh, did you want me inside you again?" Landa asked, his voice teasing.

"Ja…bitte…" Dieter was breathless now. Landa brought the head of his cock to the boy's entrance and rubbed it slowly around the hole, occasionally stopping to tease him with a light press against it. He repeated the motion again, and again and again until the tears of frustration finally began to spill from Dieter's eyes.

"_Bitte_!" Dieter shouted, anguished and desperate. "_Bitte, bitte, bitte—"_

And then the head of Landa's cock pressed into him and held still. Dieter tried to move his hips back to capture more of it, but Landa drew back every time he attempted it.

"_Please, no more_," Dieter cried. "_Please, please, please fuck me, please—" _He was cut off by a thrust so savage it nearly knocked him forward into the headboard. Landa grabbed his hips and held them fast in a bruising grip, shoving rapidly in and out, and Dieter grunted with each deep thrust.

"Fuck me," Dieter groaned. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…"

He braced himself against the headboard, clinging to it as he violently slammed his hips back to meet each hard thrust. His prostate was being rubbed raw and he was desperately clutching the headboard to keep himself from crashing into it. He couldn't let go to stroke himself and relieve the burning pressure. But he felt it rapidly build inside him, expanding and flowing throughout his body, until he was suddenly hit by a bolt of pleasure so powerful he couldn't contain it. A harsh shout erupted from his lips when he came, his untouched cock jerking as it spewed forth.

Landa leaned back over Dieter, wrapped one arm around his belly while bracing himself against the mattress as he drove into him relentlessly. He made one final violent thrust, sunk his teeth into the boy's shoulder and let out a long, loud groan. Dieter felt each powerful throb of Landa's cock as his hot semen spilled into him.

Dieter collapsed on the bed, and Landa collapsed on top of him, both men panting heavily. Landa rolled off Dieter and flopped onto his back, closing his eyes. Both men lay silent for a few moments, awash in the heady scent of semen and sweat.

In the distance, Dieter heard the Grandfather clock chime once more. It was 4 a.m. He thought back to those chimes at midnight when all of this had first begun—it seemed as though days had passed. He knew that he and Landa had taken a step forward together. He didn't know what that step was yet, and he was both frightened and exhilarated by it. But he knew there was no turning back. The relationship between the two had been changed irrevocably on this Christmas day.

Landa opened his eyes, turned to look at Dieter, and smiled. It was a smile of triumph and satisfaction, and somehow it brought a sense of relief to Dieter. He smiled back.

"Frohe Weihnachten, Standartenführer," he said.

"Frohe Weihnachten, Sturmbannführer."

Landa reached out and gathered Dieter against him. Dieter settled into his arms, rested his head against Landa's shoulder. They lay quietly together for a few minutes, basking in the tranquility of their shared afterglow. Although he had no idea what was to come, Dieter felt at peace. He had wanted this for so long. It had finally happened, and it had been everything he had hoped for and more.

Landa grasped Dieter's chin and drew him into a tender kiss. When he pulled back he smiled the same familiar, sly grin Dieter had witnessed in a wide range of situations, from the interrogation of a resistance fighter to the first assessing sip of a restaurant's finest wine.

"And so it begins, my boy," Landa said. "You'll soon learn that I am a man of many unusual needs. What you experienced today was only the very tip of a quite large, jagged iceberg."

Dieter shivered at his words.

"The question," Landa continued, "is will you be up to the task?"

Dieter didn't respond. He had learnt a great deal about Landa this odd Christmas Day, and he knew no response was needed. After all, neither of them could possibly know the answer at this point.

Only time would tell, Dieter thought. Only time.

_**FIN**_


End file.
